HCwDB
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Friday, March 30, 2007
The Dharma 'Bag
I’m not sure where we went wrong. At what historical point we split off from the potential for a Utopian future of enlightenment and instead descended into the cultural train-wreck that is this absolutely soul shredding slice of swirling sexy and sewage.
Yeah, I’m down with alliteration.
We’ve featured Buddha ‘Bags on the site before, but this may be the douche equivalent of the Bliss State. Dharma ‘Bag has achieved douche transcendence. He teaches The Four Douchey Truths and offers us the Eightfold Path. Unfortunately, that path leads to uber-douche. I’m transformed through six levels of douche-consciousness just comprehending that this pic exists.
Or maybe it’s that glimpse of tanned lower back that sings of the potential to right our societal ship before we iceberg across the bow of velvet choads and asymmetric facial scruff. Both of those fantastic glimpses, of shoulder and hip, restores hope for the future. It makes Nietzsche believe in God and inspires frogs to line-dance in Saskatchewan.
There remains a glimpse of utopian potential. And if I choose to find it in a backside I’d like to slobber on for a weekend, then so be it.
Friday, March 30, 2007Sir Pecsalot
There’s nothing more enjoyable than a rowdy night out of douche-karaoke, in which someone finally gets drunk enough to put 0n the late 80s Sir Pecsalot classic “Douchey Got Back.” Its moments like that when we all remember the retro-grease genius that is Sir Pecsalot in all his douche-rapping genius.
And by genius, I mean ‘roids.
In analyzing the enhanced douchebaggery of Sir Pecsalot, it is important to note that he can, with very little effort, break me in half. Like a twix bar. I hate it when the greasy pumped up ‘bag pictured can snap my sad little spine like a twix bar. Because I like twix bars. And they’re easy to snap in half. That being said, the dude is dripping hair gel, Tag Bodyshots and bling like a Corsican sailor selling dried apricots.I have no idea what that means. But I like dried apricots.
I’m hoping once his tats are translated, we’ll have more fragments of the Douche Sea Scrolls with which to expand our knowledge of the early 2nd Century Gnostic Scrotebags.
Asian hottie busting the skulls bikini sends my synapses popping with confusion by using the age old simu-attraction/repulsion technique. I’m lost. Dazed and confused. I want to explore the ambiguous inflated hinterlands but reel at the douche virus infection’s douchey douchiness.
So instead I will much on a twix bar and dried apricots, and stare longingly at the red thigh scarf while hoping Sir Pecsalot doesn’t two turntables and microphone my face.
Friday, March 30, 2007Friday Haiku
Douchebaggery plague,
Pestilence, sickness, greased choads,
Bud Light Cries out, “No!”
A Kubrick nightmare
Swathed in cliched ink of Bag
Wyatt Douche: Frontier Choad
-DuckDuckDouche
I think its quite clear,
The Blonde is CC Deville.
My god he loves drugs.
— the alpha douche
Blond is a tranny,
nipple pastey, pube-faced scrote
White trash with Douchebag
-Grigori Rasdouchin
Friday, March 30, 2007'Bags of Corinthians
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of douche, I will fear no hotties: for thou art with me; thy Izod and thy empty liquor bottles because you’re too cheap to buy new ones, they comfort me. [‘Bags of Corinthians 23:4]
Platoon
It’s like that moment in war after a long battle, when the platoon is outgunned on every side, surrounded by the enemy, but fighting for every inch. If instead of a platoon, it was a supernova sexy hottie, and instead of an enemy, it was a bunch of steaming, greased up choads.
But otherwise the analogy holds.
Thursday, March 29, 2007Puka Shells
Puka Shells are:
a) Named for the Hawaiian word for “hole”
b) Tiny cone shaped snail shells with holes in them
c) Ground by surf and coral into a smooth, polished shape
d) Frequently find themselves forced to cohabitate with smelly Tag Bodshot and Armani Exchange covered douchebags
e) All of the above
Thursday, March 29, 2007Carpe Boobum
To answer your shirt, little PP: No but those big DDs make me forget you’re a big DB.
There’s something amusing in the exchange of glances going on here. PP actually has a clever plan in action. Feature tiny type on his shirt to ensnare the local cuties into being forced to lean in to read what it says. At that moment, Lil’ P.P. is free to engage in what is known in the Himalayas as “The Eyeball Quest.” The surreptitious journey into the hinterlands. The sense memory exersize in which a fraction in time is preserved for future recall during a more, lets say private, moment.
But instead of taking that spiritual journey of the soul when the chance arises, Lil’ P.P. chooses instead to glance at the camera.
They have a word for that around here… What is it… It’ll come to me in a moment… Oh yeah. Douchebag.
Now I know what you’re thinking. Shut up and post the funny pics, clown. And I will. But consider this. Those chances in life to gaze at the Holy Cleavite must not be wantonly spent on the frivolity of the nearby camera. Whence facing such a moment, remember this.
Glance.
Glance like the wind. Glance like you might never glance again. Before the moment is lost.
Carpe Boobum, boys. Carpet Boobum. Or regret it forever.
Thursday, March 29, 2007Glassy
Where can I get a pair of upside-down sunglasses as cool as those? Scroteglasses Hut?
More to the point, where can I get a Miami hooha as fine as that one? She looks like Pumpy’s fawn crossed with Reece Witherspoon, only with meatier shoulders. I would sprinkle paprika on them and enter them in a cajun cooking contest. She is delectable.
Glassy’s facial fungle, on the other hand, is not.
Thursday, March 29, 2007Checklist
Lets see.
Classic hottie? Check.
Classic stage-2 douchebag? Check.
Fondling my inner thigh in ways that aren’t quite obscene but you wouldn’t do in public? Check.
Must be Wednesday.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007Amen
Oh yeah.
Come on people! Can I get an Amen?
And by Amen, I mean “yech.”
Jolie Hottie, you must run. Now.
Those are not adoptable Vietnamese babies. They are grown douchebags.
